Gambate, Marshall
by nemain13
Summary: Mary finds out Marshall has an interesting hobby. Watch out for flying citrus... There is a reason this one is rated M, people.
1. Mary Is Intrigued

**A/N: Be warned; there are a lot of technical terms in this one. I tried not to use them unnecessarily, and I tried to define them all as close to their use as possible. The idea for this one came to me and would NOT let me go because, yes, I have played this sport, and yes I think it is something Marshall would enjoy, kick all kinds of backside at, and look so good doing that it would probably cause heart palpitations.**

**Spoilers? Ain't any. This is a universe all its own.**

**Warnings? Language, language, language. Boy, does Mary need to watch that stuff! Oh, and if you get far enough, beware of the citrus. Citrus will be flying all around. This is my first attempt at writing smut, just to see if I can. I'll tag that chapter with a citrus warning.  
**

**Disclaimers? I don't own them. Otherwise I would tuck Marshall in my pocket and keep him for my very own.

* * *

**

Had the weather not been unseasonably warm, the whole thing probably never would have happened. They were sitting in the GMC on a stakeout, though, and what had been predicted as a coolish spring day had heated up to a ridiculous degree with a humidity that Albuquerque almost never had. Mary and Marshall had shed jackets hours ago and the slight breeze through the rolled-down windows was far too stingy to cool them.

Mary shifted restlessly. "It's hotter than nine hells in here," she muttered. "Why is the weather always absolute shit for stakeouts? Why, just once, just for giggles, couldn't we get a stakeout where it was cool with a light breeze, zero humidity, no snow, no rain of blood falling from the sky..."

Marshall didn't turn the binoculars away from the window. "Fire. Rain of fire. Actually fire intermixed with hail. The blood was in the Nile, which was a double-whammy to the ancient Egyptians since they considered the river divine," he said absently.

Even for Marshall, that had been random. Heat had reduced her normal tolerance for everything which was never very great to less than nothing. "Marshall, what the _fuck_? Are you suffering from dehydration? Do I need to call a bus? Officer down?"

Marshall's mouth quirked up at the corners, but he still didn't lower the binoculars. "Come on, Mare... you were talking about the Plagues of Egypt weren't you? It was a rain of fire, not blood. The waters of Egypt turning to blood was the first plague that happened, then came the frogs, then the flies or gnats, there is disagreement about the exact translation of that word...."

"Stop it. Stop right there, or there will be a rain of blood in this car as I pummel you unconscious. I cannot take Biblical trivia in all this heat." She fidgeted another moment. "Give me those damn binoculars. I'll take over. Give me something to do other than melt into a puddle. See if you can get a little bit of a nap or something. Apparently these assholes are going to take their time about this. We might be out in this heat all day." _And if we are, somebody is going to pay...._

Marshall handed them over with a small sigh and stretched his long arms out in front of him, fingers laced so the joints popped. He leaned the seat back and closed his eyes. A moment later, eyes still closed, he undid the cuff buttons of his long-sleeved shirt and rolled them up in an effort to cool off a little. The motion caught Mary's eye and that's when she saw the enormous bruises covering Marshall's right forearm like an Impressionist canvas in black, blue, and purple. No mere bump could have caused those, and Mary could think of no encounter during the past two abnormally-peaceful weeks of WITSEC activity that would account for the livid blotches of color on her partner's arm.

"Jesus, Marshall, what have you done to yourself?" she asked, lowering the binoculars. She trailed light fingertips across the bruise reflexively as Marshall's eyes opened, just a little wary and startled. _ Wasn't expecting me to touch him...._

"What? Oh...that. Yeah." He sank back on the seat with an amused smile, and looked at the patches on his forearm himself. "It's fine. They don't really hurt anymore. They just look bad. I had forgotten all about them."

"I'm striving for patience here, genius. What _caused_ them?"

Marshall turned his head to look more fully at her and said with his most irritating smile, "Why do you want to know?"

Mary bared her teeth, but what she was giving him probably wouldn't have been called a smile by most sane people. "Maybe it's because I'm bored. Maybe it's because I'm curious. Maybe it's because I'm looking for pointers before I proceed to put similar marks all over your body because you're pissing me off by not answering my questions."

Marshall, knowing her well, was unmoved, and he laughed at her.

"Three seconds, Marshall. Three seconds, and I'm going to take my hands, apply them to those bruises and make you sing..."

Marshall crooked his eyebrow with mischief dancing in his eyes, tilted his chin, and lowered his voice, "Mare, you can apply your hands to any part of me any time you'd like, but gently, gently..."

Mary laughed, despite the heat. "Pervert. You probably like it rough, anyway. I bet that's where those damn bruises came from."

"Aahh, but Maare," Marshall crooned with the wickedest of his grins, "you know I only like it rough if it comes from you." There was no space in the GMC cab to elude the punch she gave him even though he knew it was coming, but since he was laughing like a crazy person when it landed, Mary could only assume it hadn't hurt him too much. When his laughter subsided, he looked up at her with those still-amused blue eyes and said, "No, in all seriousness, I got these from some people who have no idea how to control themselves when they attempt migi-kote-uchi."

_What the fuck? _"And that would be what exactly? Some kind of Japanese geek group sex maneuver you found online?"

His lips quirked briefly. "Nope. That's kendo."

"Keep in mind that I've been sitting in this damn vehicular sauna for five hours already, and just give me the Readers' Digest version, please."

"Kendo means 'the Way of the Sword.' It's one of Japan's oldest martial arts and it has its roots in Bushido, the 'Way of the Samurai.' Most scholars argue that it really got its start as a separate martial art during the Edo Period..." Marshall saw Mary's eyes begin to take on that glazed look, and he edited down his trivia hurriedly so as not to lose her... "but basically it is a descendant of the samurai's practice with the long sword and the mental and physical disciplines associated with it."

"And you do this. You go dress up somewhere and swing samurai swords about in your spare time."

"Yep. Well, shinai or the occasional bokken, but yeah, basically. Have for years."

Mary looked at Marshall through narrowed eyes. How could she not know something like this about her partner? Was this odd, or was this just....Marshall? Marshall was still sprawled on the seat simply looking back at her. She could not reconcile her geeky, pun-making partner with what she commonly thought of when the idea of samurai came to her mind. The two images just would not go together, except in ways that led to laughter.... Marshall in a kimono, Marshall with his head shaved. Marshall talking except his words did not match the motion of his mouth....

"And would this be something a person could come and watch, or does this take place in some secret ninja enclave high in the hills somewhere?" said Mary with a totally earnest expression, waving her hand idly at the open window.

"I guess I could probably sneak you into the cave and hide you behind an outcropping of rocks if you promised you'd be really quiet," he said, equally deadpan. About that time there was movement from the house they were watching, and both of them snapped to alertness....

* * *

**Still with me? Let me know what you think....**


	2. An Unexpected Sight

**A/N: Part two. Still not mine. Enjoy. By the way, gambate means something like "do your best," "good luck," or "kick ass" depending on the situation. It's one of my favorite little Japanese phrases, and appropriate here.**

* * *

And that was how Mary wound up in one of the most uncomfortable molded plastic chairs she'd ever had the misfortune to encounter the following Tuesday night. It was that horrible 70's shade of orange, and some designer had decided to mock those who sat in it by including a faux seat cushion slick of a brownish material that did not even bother to indent when touched with the finger.

She hadn't seen Marshall at all, and in fact was about fifteen minutes later arriving to the basketball court at the university gym the kendo class was using than she was supposed to be because of drunken family stupidity courtesy of Jinx and Brandi. She would not be going back there tonight. Her overnight bag was already in her car, and she hoped Marshall wouldn't mind her crashing on his pull-out bed. Somebody would die if she had to go home.

When she'd arrived, approximately twenty people in what looked to her like heavy blue pajama kneeling on the floor. She'd googled Marshall's precious sport at the office before she left and she surreptitiously slipped a printout of terms she'd taken from a website out of her jacket pocket, and some of her own brief martial arts training came back to her as she looked up the name of the pajama outfits they were wearing. The top was a special kind of gi, like she'd worn when taking judo, only heavier and thicker. The pants were actually called a "skirt" (_oh, Marshall, I am SO going to ride your ass about that...) _known as hakama. Each person also had a helmet with a metal face-guard called a men, thick gloves called kote, a waist protector called the tare, and a plate of armor around his or her chest known as do. The last piece of equipment was a small cotton towel, the tenugui, her sheet told her, that would go under the men, the helmet as a cushion and sweat-catcher.

Right now, the entire class was kneeling facing the front of the room wearing only the gi, hakama, tare, and do. The kote all pointed to the right and the men of each student was placed face-down on top of those thick blue gloves in the exact same alignment, and the bamboo sword, the shinai, lay to the left of each student's knees. Mary scanned the room looking for Marshall, and she spotted him near the front of the room. _Ha...know that hair anywhere... Time to see what Samurai Marshall looks like in action, I guess. _The other students were a mixture of young and old, male and female, ranging from what Mary thought were probably high school students to a man with iron-gray hair, with a large number of college students represented. Mary saw a face she vaguely recognized from ABQ PD in the mixture as well.

After a few more moments of silence, the instructor gave a command Mary didn't understand, and the students bowed forward while remaining on their knees. Mary watched as they all unfolded long thin pieces of white fabric with various insignias on them, most of them the same kanji symbols in blue ink, and wrapped them around their heads. _So that's what a tenugui looks like...Wonder why Marshall's is different?_ His was not the plain white and blue one, but was more blue than white, and seemed to have different characters on it than the others. _Have to ask him about that later...Jesus, I'm getting as curious as he is about this crap...._

The students proceeded in silence to put on the men, the helmets, which required fairly complex lacing, and some of the younger students needed the assistance of the instructors. Students who finished with their men slipped on the thickly-padded kote, and then remained in their kneeing position waiting for the others to finish. Eventually, even the beginners were ready to go, secure in their armor, and the instructor barked out another command in Japanese. The entire class came to its feet, more or less as one entity, and then bowed deeply holding their shinai at their sides.

Mary watched with rising interest through the next few minutes as the class moved through warm up strike exercises. There was a drill in which reminded her a little of a basketball passing drill in the way that one half of the students faced the other half one-on-one, sliding forward to strike a blow before passing by except that the person was not passing a ball but _was whacking the other with a big damn bamboo SWORD and screaming like a crazy person...you know what...this is a sport I could SO learn to love...._

Time flew and Mary watched the students practice strikes to the head, abdomen, and wrist. She understood, now, the bruises on Marshall's arms. The people who seemed to have more control didn't use as much force with their blows. They were precise and fast, flicking the shinai against the target and away. Those who were less adept were basically just whaling the tar out of whomever had the misfortune to be standing in front of them at the time, and she knew that more than one set of forearms were going to be going home black and blue tonight after watching several enthusiastic but unskilled practitioners move through the drills.

Mary picked Marshall out of the group and watched him go through the drill. His movements were crisp and precise. His shinai sliced through the air and rapped firmly against his target; he yelled with abandon and moved gracefully away, bare feet sliding across the floor like a dancer's. Mary narrowed her eyes. Who knew her geekish partner had it in him to do this samurai shtick and make it look, well, _so damn good?_

Eventually, the sensei barked out another brief command and the majority of the students moved to the edge of the basketball-court-cum-dojo and knelt down. Marshall was one of the ones who remained standing. _Well, he did say he's been doing this a long time... _The remaining students paired off and faced one another, stepped back and sparred briefly. _Warm up, _she thought. They stepped back to the edge of the makeshift dojo floor, and Marshall and another student stepped forward. Mary leaned forward in her chair. _And...show time...._

As Marshall and his opponent squared off, paced back nine steps from one another, and bowed slightly to one another (_geez, look how they never break eye contact...it's psychological warfare before they ever start swinging)_, Mary took a moment to study her partner. He strode a few steps closer now and then Marshall dropped straightbacked into the squat known as sonkyo and rose into the ready position waiting for the command to begin combat. His stance was utterly confident, utterly graceful, utterly ready. It was the stance she saw whenever he stood beside her ready to go through a door, Glock in hand, or whenever they were caught in a firefight, ready to shoot their way out. _Damn. This poor guy does not even know what's about to happen to him_, thought Mary, and an evil smile worked its way across her face. She couldn't see his face now through the men, but she knew that his eyes had gone hard. The cry to begin, "Hajime!" echoed in the quiet room, and Marshall and his opponent both exploded into motion.

Marshall just took systematically took the other man apart. The two of them had bobbed on the balls of their bare feet, sliding gently, looking for an opening, and then the first strike, block and riposte had occurred. The air was filled with the kiai, the fighting cries, of the two men, and the sound stirred something in Mary's blood. She found herself gripping her chair and snarling under her breath, "_Nail that sonofabitch, Marshall. Get him. Come on...." _It was over in moments. Three fast strikes, kote, kote, do, and the two were stepping back into sonkyo again, then the bow and then the defeated opponent was leaving to kneel with the others at the edge of the floor. _Ha! More like going to sit in the corner and try to put the pieces of his ass he just had handed him back together. _

Still standing calmly at attention, Marshall held his shinai at his side as if it were a true sheathed blade, and another opponent stood up, taking a moment to limber before getting into position. _Elimination __tourney? I get to watch that again? Deeelicious. _She suddenly realized that Marshall was staring directly at her for the first time since she'd slipped through the doors of the gym. She could see his bright blue eyes through the protective grill of the men, and a purely feline, extremely predatory smile crept across her lips. She saw his eyes crinkle in response, briefly, and she mouthed to him, slowly, "_Kick...his...ass..._." Marshall bowed to her ever so slightly, eyes not leaving hers, smile completely gone now, and she felt a slow frisson of something slick and hot slide up and down her spine settling low in her belly. She settled back in her chair to watch the fun.

When Marshall turned back to the opponent in front of him, the same ritual of steps, bows, and squats occurred. Mary realized she was holding her breath. Although this opponent was more skilled than the last, this one was no more successful. Marshall feinted, assessed, and surgically destroyed. Strikes to men, do, kote, and it was over. As soon as the rituals to finish the combat were done, Marshall's eyes flickered to hers, fierce, proud, hot, just a moment, and then it was time for him to fight again._ And I want to stand up and cheer like a fucking high school cheerleader. Good God, just look at him move. _Mary had never, ever seen him like this. Marshal destroyed opponent after opponent; male, female, it didn't matter, they fell before his icy grace and total control. He didn't always escape without the other striking a blow, but he always won, survived to the next round. After each victory, he turned those hot blue eyes on her, and there was a challenge in them that made her shiver. _Whatever the hell that is, ...yeah...sign me up...._

She raked a hand through her hair and looked around the room. She looked at the college girls kneeling along the edges of the gym floor. They were staring at Marshall with faces full of a mixture of hero-worship and lust and whispering. One of them made a gesture that, coupled with a lascivious smile, Mary recognized all too easily, and she was surprised by the whiplash reaction she felt: _Mine. My partner. My...Marshall. NOT yours you silly twits..._

Finally the last opponent of the group stood before him. This man unfolded himself with an arrogance that was almost palpable. Mary had noticed him earlier. He was one of the students who'd led some of the practice drills earlier, and Mary knew enough from her brief Judo experience to know that made him a high muckiety-muck of some kind. _Marshall's fought six already, and this prick is fresh as a daisy_, thought Mary. _That hardly seems fair. He knows it, too. Look at the smug bastard. _The opponent was smirking slightly and taking his time getting into position. Marshall was breathing a little harder, and Mary could see sweat glistening through the helmet's bars. As he had done before, his eyes briefly sought Mary's. She could see traces of fatigue in them and she made her expression fierce. _Take him down. You can do it. You're a U.S. Marshal. You've had papercuts tougher than this pretentious shit. _Marshall's gaze stayed on her another heartbeat, and as though he'd heard her, he nodded ever so slightly, that tiny bow. He rolled his shoulders and his breath calmed.

The match was different right from the very beginning. Clearly, this guy was the closest of the bunch to Marshall in skill of all the others who had fought tonight. He, too, assessed before striking, so for the first moments of the bout, the two feinted and blocked each other. Suddenly the other fighter struck a blow that slid through Marshall's defenses and landed lightning-fast across his chest armor. The other fighter's kiai was just obnoxiously loud, Mary decided. _I'd like the chance to make that fucker scream, _she thought_. I think I could teach him how to do it right given a little time and some sharp objects._

Marshall scored the next two points, but the opposing fighter slid in across his guard to retrieve another point with a strike to Marshall's men, tapping the helmet a little more sharply than was strictly necessary. _Don't think we didn't all see that lovetap, too, precious. Keep it up, and so help me... My Glock will fix all your ills._

The next point would decide the match. Mary's fingers were digging into the fake cushion of the orange chair. The two combatants set up and began to measure one another. _Come on, Marshall. Come on...one last point. Take him out. _It happened so fast that Mary would have missed it had she so much as blinked. Marshall's opponent struck, but Marshall simply wasn't there. Instead, he eluded the thrust and responded with one of his own, one she hadn't seen that night, one that ended with the tip of his shinai touching lightly_ (the flickering and deadly paw of a big cat)_ against the throat guard of the astonished opponent. "Tsuki!" he cried, victory in his voice.

The way the others around the edge of the floor and the sensei reacted would have told her that what he'd done was very difficult even if the fact that she hadn't seen that strike practiced all night long had not already done so. "YES! Fucking-A!" she said aloud, drawing amused glances from the students sitting close enough to hear her. She muttered, "Sorry," and grinned insincerely. Her eyes sought Marshall's, hoping he'd look around this one last time. His eyes were waiting for her hers, and his grin was wide enough to see through the facemask of the men. She was swept with warmth and happiness. She wanted to run out and grab him into a rough hug of congratulations. She wanted to pounce on him, throw him down on the wooden floor, tear open the gi and.... _well...wouldn't __**that**__ be inappropriate in front of all these good people...._

The class removed their helmets not long afterward and moved into some cooldown stretches which Marshall led. She found herself leaning across the back of the chair in front of her, admiring the line of his throat and his strong cheekbones. _How can he look that sexy with his hair all flattened out? _When the class moved into some moments of quiet meditation, Mary slipped out. _This is where I came in, I think, and besides, I think I just had a BRILLIANT idea....

* * *

_

**Whatcha think? No citrus yet. Stay with it.... If you want to see what all this gear looks like, check out the All Japan Kendo Federation page. They will set you up right. Feed the button, please....**_  
_


	3. Marshall Heads Home

**A/N: Part the third, in which Marshall's POV emerges ever so briefly. No fruity goodness yet. Still not mine. **

* * *

Marshall didn't raise his head, but he knew when she left and couldn't help but be disappointed that Mary hadn't stayed to talk to him after the class ended. He slowly moved through the ritual of putting away his kendogu, and once all the armor was in its large bag, he stripped off the sweaty hakama and gi, leaving him in a pair of loose shorts and a faded blue tshirt, carried everything out to his truck and climbed in. He had half-hoped Mary might be lurking in the parking lot waiting to ambush him. He had been so certain she'd enjoyed seeing the kendo practice.

He turned the key in the ignition and pulled out of the parking lot, his mind replaying the past two hours. He'd showboated tonight, something he didn't usually do. When he'd turned and seen her watching him with that appraising, interested gaze though, and then she'd told him to kick poor Johnson's ass, he'd realized how into it she was. When she'd asked to come to the practice, it had never occurred to him that she might enjoy it _that_ way. Looking into her eyes had been like grabbing a live wire.

He wondered if she'd even been aware of what she'd been driving him to do every time he'd turned around to see that hungry gaze stalking him, egging him on, her hands clutching the chair in front of her in anticipation of his next act of violence.... _I suddenly understand the whole concept of knights riding into battle with a token from their ladies as encouragement in a whole new way...._ The only token he'd needed was that molten gaze brushing over him like a physical touch, the knowledge that she was watching him. That tsuki strike at the end against McMillan had not been necessary, but it had been open, it had been beautifully executed, and it had been the most satisfying strike he'd ever made both because of the technical difficulty and because of the gorgeous blonde watching him with triumph in her eyes.

It wasn't late, and he briefly contemplated going by her house just to ask her what she'd thought of it. However, if she hadn't stayed, there had probably been a reason, so it would probably be in his best interest not to push it tonight. He headed the truck toward his house, deciding a hot shower and a cold beer were probably all the reward he'd receive for his battles tonight.

When Marshall pulled into his drive, he was surprised to see Mary's car parked in the drive. A quiet happiness blossomed and drove out the tiredness that had started to seep in after his physical exertions. _She wants to see me after all.... _Mary was not in the Probe; Marshall assumed she'd used her key to let herself in to his house, something she very rarely did because of the intimacy it implied. He pulled the bundled armor in its huge bag out of the truck and crossed the porch front wondering what type of Mary he was going to find.

* * *

**Any guesses as to what type of Mary is waiting for him inside?**


	4. Star Wars Pajamas

**A/N: Part the Fourth in which there be smut. This is my first ever citrus, so if it goes badly, I apologize... Still not mine, although I wish I could say otherwise.**

* * *

Mary was sitting on the couch with her bare feet on the coffee table, hair pulled up into a loose ponytail, watching tv, remote in hand, the picture of at-home-ease. She twisted around when Marshall came through the door and waved a hand at him. Her overnight bag sitting on the floor behind the couch caught Marshall's eye, and he raised a brow at it as he dropped his gear bag and leaned his shinai against the wall. "Made ourselves at home, have we?"

Mary smiled. "Knew you wouldn't mind."

"No...You know what's mine is yours. You'd just take it, anyway."

"Yeah. That's why I keep you around."

Marshall leaned against the arch leading into the living room with a smirk on his face. "Oh so THAT'S why. I thought it was my ability to do all your paperwork, keep you supplied with coffee, and make sure you don't wind up in prison for killing innocent bystanders."

"Those are just perks." She ran her eyes over Marshall's lean frame, taking in the still-sweaty t-shirt clinging to his broad shoulders. _Speaking of which...._

Marshall crossed the living room and dropped down next to her on the couch. She immediately shoved him.

"Oh hells no. You go take that to the shower. There's such a thing as taking sharing too far. There are some things of yours I don't want, Marshall Mann, and post-samurai funk is topping that list."

Marshall rolled his head on the back of the couch and sighed. "I'm sure you're right. I'll be back in a few, and then I want to hear what you thought about the class." He pulled himself up and headed down the hallway to get cleaned up.

A little while later, he came back into the room with a pair of Star Wars pajamas and a tshirt on and smelling like soap and combing his damp hair out of his eyes. "Good enough to sit next to now?"

Mary scooted down the couch to make room for him. "I guess you'll do."

"So...I saw the bag." Marshall's eyes scanned hers with a gentle question in them as he settled into cushions of the couch, propped his long legs on the coffee table, and pulled her feet into his lap. "Want to tell me about it? I know you came in late tonight to the class, so I'm guessing there was a reason..."

Mary had a couple of reasons for wanting to stay at Marshall's tonight. Certainly the drunken squabbling crying mess she'd left behind her at her own home was a driving factor. Possibly, though, she would have gone back home and fought with mother and sister some more had she not been entranced by the unexpected beauty and power of her partner. Even looking at him now in his silly "Use the Force" pajamas sitting among the usual comfortable clutter of books, projects, and the debris of his hobbies that was so much a part of his living room, she could not help but be aware he was also the warrior from the university gym who had destroyed everyone who had stood against him. There was no way she was going to pick Drunken Jinx and Shrieking Brandi over her own personal samurai....

She tilted her head and looked steadily back at him. "You know what? I don't even want to open that can of worms. It's nothing you haven't heard before. I'm much more interested in what I saw tonight than the crapfest I left at home to go to it."

A surprised and pleased look crossed Marshall's face. "So you liked, it, huh?"

"Mmm-hmm," she said taking a sip of the beer she had sitting on the coffee table. _You have no freakin idea...._

"I thought you would. It's a really awesome sport."

"I'd love to try it out sometime," Mary said, and took another sip of her beer, watching him. _Take the bait, Marshall....come on...be a good boy about this...._

Marshall looked even happier, "You really should, Mare. If you wanted, and you could come down anytime you wanted to the class I was in. It's totally open. Everybody there is really supportive. I could even show you a couple of things myself, if you wanted... "

_Yeah. I want. You have no idea how much I want. _Mary stood up and walked over to his where his gear sat. She picked up the shinai and brought it back to the couch and held it out to Marshall.

"Show me now. Show me how to hold it correctly."

Marshall obligingly pulled himself off the couch and took the shinai from her, carefully placing first one hand, then the other on the soft blue-stained white suede of the hilt.

"You hold it like this, right hand over left, and make sure to keep your thumbs in the right position. See?"

Mary made a noise of agreement standing next to him looking down at his hands.

"Then, extend your arms straight down so the shinai is more or less at a 45 degree angle in front of you like this. You'll stand with one foot just in front of the other, and you'll keep your weight balanced like so..." Mary watched him fall into the stance easily, naturally, as he talked.

He handed her the shinai, and said, "Okay, now you try it."

Mary laid her hands on the hilt, still warm from his hands. She took a minute to arrange her grip and her body, muttering his instructions to herself, and then looked up at him. "How's this?"

Marshall was looking at her, and his eyes were a getting a deeper, hotter, blue. He blinked at her question as if he was coming back from somewhere else, and he said, "Ah, that's good. I'd say you're a natural. I think you're ready to try a strike, if you'd like." _Hook...._

"You know how much do I love to hit things..." she purred. Marshall laughed, and he moved around to stand behind her. His long arms wrapped around her, fingers holding her forearms loosely, and she could feel his warm breath against her cheek. She felt a surge of heat through her whole body.

"Let me guide your arms through the motion the first time. Think about what you saw tonight at the practice. The shinai comes up," his strong hands raised her arms above her head, "and now there's a snap of the wrists kind of like casting a fishing rod...do it slowly this first time..." His voice was in her ear, a distracting rush of sound and warmth. He slid his hands down and grasped her arms more firmly just above the wrists. His long fingers completely encircled her wrists, and something about the sight of his hands there send little trickles of fire down her spine.

She made the movement and turned her head slightly. Only inches separated her face from his now. "Like that?" she murmured. Marshall looked into her eyes, his pupils hugely dialated. "Try it one more time," he said, "just to make sure..." His thumbs on her wrists were tracing little circles. _Line..._

"I think you'd better help me again. I'm not sure I know the moves."_ Oh Marshall, I know all the moves.... I hope you're ready for the moves...._

He stepped close to her, and she deliberately stepped one step back, colliding with him, pressing her ass to his groin. His sharp exhalation feathered the hair that escaped her ponytail, and she smiled. _Carrying a sword on your person, are you partner? I hope you're as good with that one as you are with the one I have in my hands...._

"Ready?" Marshall said in her ear, his voice low and gravelly.

"Waiting on you," she said meeting his eyes again, hot and intense. She dropped her gaze deliberately to his mouth for a moment and then looked back up to his eyes. _Come on, Marshall. Don't make me wait forever...._

He lifted her arms over her head again, and her eyes followed the path of the shinai through the air. When it reached its apex, she pressed back against him again. He was hard as a rock behind her. _What, oh, what are you waiting for, Marshall...an engraved invitation?_ She was breathing harder, she could feel her nipples tightening in want, and all he had done was slide his fingers down her arms.... She realized they were just standing there pressed together, she with the bamboo sword above her head, he with his hands wrapped loosely around her wrists.

"Marshall," she whispered, and that one word seemed to be the signal he had been waiting for. She felt him shiver slightly, and he nuzzled her neck just behind her ear still holding her hands in that loose, strong, grip, still holding her body firm against him in the position for the strike. _Oh God...finally...Sinker...._

He pressed kisses down the column of her neck, and she rolled her head to the side to allow it. When he reached the curve where neck becomes shoulder, he opened his mouth and nipped her, once, quick and unexpected. She groaned, and tried to pull her hands from his grip wanting to turn, to grab him, to start ripping clothes, to _get down to it...I've been waiting all fucking night, and now I want my fucking night, thank you very much...._

Marshall kept control of her wrists, flicked his tongue over the bite to take the sting out of it, and moved up to catch her earlobe between his teeth. "Marshall," she said warningly, and he slid his hands up to take the shinai from her hands. She was turning in his arms the minute her wrists were released and before he could even throw the shinai on the couch, one hand was wrapping around his neck to draw him down for a kiss and the other was seeking the edge of his loose shirt so she could run her hands across the warm flesh of his stomach and chest. _I'm going to devour him. There will be nothing left._

He met her for the kiss, and he simply overloaded her mind. _Sweet... fucking.... hell. I had no idea he could kiss like this or this is all we'd ever do._ He traced the line of her lips with the tip of his tongue, opened her mouth, and he plunged his own tongue in deeply, flicking and sliding it against her own. She felt one of his hands creep up into her own hair to find the elastic ponytail holder and remove it, and then those long fingers were twining into her hair to angle her head to meet his hungry mouth. She could feel the tension in his body under her hand on his chest. He was practically vibrating under her touch.

Her own body was responding in kind, and she became aware she was making some little noise in the back of her throat. His free hand slid down her back to press her closer to him, and she raised a leg to hook it around his thigh. His hips bucked in response, twice, sharply, and he bit her lip before sucking it soothe the little sting. She put her fingernails into his abdomen in response and groaned. _Going to come, right here...fully clothed.....fully clothed?_

She ripped at his tshirt, pulling away from him long enough to get the offending garment over his head, and he reached for hers a moment afterward. Their eyes devoured the newly-exposed flesh, but when Mary reached for him again, Marshall caught her hands. She looked up at him, confused.

"Not here," he ground out. It took her lust-addled brain a moment to catch up with him as he pulled on her hands and led her down the hall to his bedroom.

They were no sooner in the door than she had freed her hands and spun him to press him against the door. She kissed him, licking his lower lip, flicking her tongue into the dimple that appeared as he smiled. He turned her toward the bed, and they wound up falling together onto the queen-sized mattress.

She crawled on top of him, straddling his narrow waist, and she pinned his hands beside his head. She stared down at him intently, looking into those molten blue eyes. She lowered her mouth to his and whispered a kiss over his mouth, and pulled away, looking, measuring. She could feel the length of him pressed against her like...._a steel rod, like a fucking broadsword_....and she ground against him just for the pure pleasure of watching his eyes go blank. _Beautiful...must have...._

"Do you even know what you did to me tonight, Marshall Mann?" she asked, still moving against him slowly. "Watching you swing that shinai, destroy all those others," Marshall gave an inarticulate moan.... and she grinned evilly but kept up her conversation and her motion, "you had me hot"..she leaned down and pressed a kiss to the middle of his chest, just over the heart that was pounding..."wet"....she traced her tongue around his belly button and laved it, and Marshall bucked like a bronco..."and needy the minute you took that first bastard down...." She traced her fingertips over the shape of him where he tented the fabric of the ridiculous pajamas. _Use the Force, indeed, Marshall..... _Marshall was watching her with a strained expression. "You did tell me that what's yours is mine.." She nuzzled his cock through the fabric, smiling as he groaned. "....And now, I'm going to take what I want, Marshall Mann, so you better get ready..."

She hooked the waistband of the loose pajama pants and slipped them over his lean hips, down his legs and threw them off the bed without looking where they fell. She ran her hands back up his legs and watched his hips move restlessly.

"Mary..." Marshall murmured, eyes riveted on her as she lowered her head.

She met his eyes for one hot second, wrapped her hands around the base of his straining cock and sucked him all the way down her throat. He came off the bed in an arc, hands sliding into her hair, hips thrusting. "Oh God, Mary," he choked out. She smiled around him and continued to work the sensitive underside with slow firm strokes of her tongue. He writhed under her mouth...._the most erotic fucking thing I have ever seen in my life...I could get off just watching him...._ She used her hands to cup his heavy testicles, caressing, torturing, slipping one hand down below them to press hard for the extra stimulation she knew would drive him mad. She was rewarded by the helpless thrusting of his hips, the clutching hands at the back of her head, and the broken streams of words falling from his lips. _Mine, mine, mine, all sweet...fucking...mine...._

Suddenly he reached down and dragged her up his body while spinning her under him. His hands ripped at her bra, her jeans and her panties, and then his mouth was everywhere. He lowered his head to suck her nipple into his mouth, and it was her turn to burn and moan. His teeth nipped her, and the unexpected flair of pain made her grab at his head to hold her to him. He laved the bite with long slow strokes of his tongue, taking the sting out of it, moved his mouth to her other aching breast. He slid one open hand down her abdomen until his fingertips traced the line of her wet mound gently, over and over, teasingly.

He rose and pressed an open mouthed kiss, all tongue and heat, to her mouth."You know the other half of that old saying, don't you, Mare? What's mine is yours." he traced her nipple with his tongue "...and what's yours " he lowered his head to her ribcage, a lick, a kiss, lower, a nip, a kiss "....is...." two fingers slid into her heat and moisture "mine." _Oh God, he's looking at me with the same eyes I saw through the helmet when he fought...ohgodohgodohgodohgod...._Mary's head thrashed on the pillow as he drove her up with skilled, patient fingers. His thumb pressed firmly on her aching clit, tracing slow, slippery little circles of pleasure. He watched her hips hitch helplessly, and he pressed a kiss on her flat belly.

"Marshall... " she gasped reaching to grasp for his shoulders. "_Marshall..._" _What is he doing to me? Who is this man? Oh...my...God.... _She was coming apart, the world was unraveling....

He lowered his head to join his mouth to his hand between her legs, and his tongue flickered against her swollen nub. Her hands found his hair and her legs clamped around his head. She was aware vaguely that her hips were rocking, and she felt him lick her long and slow, his tongue a streak of hot fire raking her, and in moments she was coming, It rolled over her like a thunderstorm, like a tidal wave, and she became aware that she was crying out his name as she came down from the orgasm..._and I never scream.... _

She was aware of him reaching into his nightstand for something...._condom...thank God one of us is still able to think..._ and she heard the wrapper tear.

Then Marshall was rising over her, the same look of hot victory still in his eyes. He lowered his hips and slid himself over her slowly. She raised her hips and sank her fingernails into his shoulders deep enough to draw blood. He bared his teeth in a feral smile, and grabbed her hands to pin them above her head. She struggled against him briefly, but she could not get her hands free from his grip._ Oh hell, why does that just make me hotter...should make me furious, should make me panicky...instead it just makes me feel..._

"Do it, Marshall. Now. I need you..."

Marshall had leaned down and was pressing hot, wet, open mouthed kisses to the tender places on her neck. He continued to slide slowly over her, teasingly close to giving her what she wanted.

"Patience, patience...." he murmured.

"_Fuck_ that!" she groaned.

He laughed, strain in it now, shifted his hips slightly, and slipped just the head of his massive length into her. "Much rather fuck you, instead...."

That word falling off her staid partner's lips was just another layer of heat, and she arched for him. He slid slowly into her slick heat, a restrained, measured entry, until she thought she would die from it._ So good...so much of him...so damn good...._ When he was all the way inside her, he released her hands and he rested his head on her shoulder for a moment. She felt him body shaking as he reached for some kind of control. She grabbed his shoulders and wrapped her legs around his waist.

He raised his head, pressed his mouth to hers gently, softly, and began to move. His hand slid down to grip her hip briefly, urging her thigh higher around his ribs. His thrusts were hard and deep, and she felt herself being moved up the bed. _A headboard shaker...who knew..._ He was losing the fine layer of control that he'd held onto so far, and she was also coming apart. She was screaming, grasping him as the only solid land in a world that was dissolving beneath her feet, and suddenly everything was gone and she was flying in space, her body clenching hard around Marshall's. Mary felt his rhythm break and heard his harsh cry as his body shuddered against hers.

When Mary began to know where she was again, she stroked a hand down Marshall's lean back and felt a shiver run through him. She smiled and kissed his shoulder.

"Mmm..." he rumbled from somewhere near her ear. His hips flexed gently. She felt her body contract in gently in response. He groaned, then pushed up on his elbows to look in her eyes. He was smiling as he looked at her. He tucked a few strands of her hair behind her ear and leaned down to kiss her softly, sweetly.

"I have the oddest feeling that I was ambushed," he said, brushing his lips across hers.

Mary's eyes were still half-closed. She circled the hand that rested possessively on the small of his back gently and brought her other up to cup his cheek. "Don't think for a minute that you weren't, buster."

He laughed, and kissed her again, that same gentle press of lips, this time sucking her lower lip softly. A moment later, he rolled off her and got up, headed to the bathroom. Mary pulled the covers over herself and curled over onto her side, sleepily. A few minutes later, Mary felt the bed dip and then Marshall lay behind her, close, but not touching her, not holding her, not pulling her against him as so many men would have done. _Because he knows me well enough to know I don't like to be held afterward. _Mary lay there for another few heartbeats, the day as a whole racing through her mind, Marshall the part-time warrior, Marshall the unexpected hurricane lover, Marshall the partner who knew her so well. Then she shifted herself until her body fit until the curve of his, felt him hesitate, _not asking_, and because it was Marshall, who never pushed, who never asked, _ the warrior who had to be wa_y_laid,_ she reached behind her, caught his hand, and tangled her fingers with his, and settled to sleep with a smile on her face.

* * *


	5. Pancakes and Questions

**A/N: Here's hoping you're still here after the last bit. This is the final chapter of this little romp. They're still not mine.**

* * *

The next day was a day off, so no alarm intruded on Mary's sleep. When her eyes opened, she was alone in the bed. She frowned a little and ran her hand over Marshall's side of the bed. Cool to the touch. He'd been gone some time. _ And I was hoping for round two on this lovely morning. _ Just as irritation began to creep in, she registered the smell of food coming from the kitchen. _Wait._ _Oh God love that man...do I smell pancakes? Bacon? Coffee? _

Marshall stuck his head around the door frame about that time, and smiled at the sight of her sitting up in his bed sniffing the air greedily. "It will be ready in about ten minutes. You've got time to take a shower if you want."

Mary slid out of the bed with apparent utter lack of concern for her nakedness. "Sounds good. Hope you've got syrup to go with those pancakes." She headed for the bathroom aware of Marshall's gaze on her. She noticed that Marshall had, at some point while she was sleeping, brought in her overnight bag, and she bent over it, back to Marshall to take out the clothing she needed when she got out of the shower. She heard Marshall step into the room. _See anything you like, Marshall?_ She looked over her shoulder at him with an innocent, inquisitive expression on her face.

"Did you need... something, Marshall?" She turned to face him, dangling the clean pair of underwear she'd fished out of her bag from one finger.

Marshall crossed the room and looked down into her eyes, his own hot, hungry as she felt. "Damn. I guess the pancakes will hold...."

Later, with one of her appetites satisfied and clean, Mary was sitting at Marshall's kitchen table eating slightly cool, but surprisingly good pancakes. _Yet another reason to stay the night at Marshall's house. _ He was sitting across the table from her with a huge plate of food, and they were eating and talking with the familiarity that came so easy to them.

_It should be weird. There should be weirdness that we've slept together, that it was Marshall last night and this morning who made all the little angels sing and the fucking spheres align. Why isn't it strange? Why does it feel so right? I can't think about that right now...._

She filched a piece of bacon off his plate and asked him one of the questions she'd had on her mind since he'd first told her about the kendo instead. "So tell me how you got involved in kendo."

Marshall slapped at her hand in mock defense of his food, and actually blushed as he registered her question. "I got interested when I was a kid," he said, his voice trailing off, and he took a big bite of his pancakes.

_Oh, I SO want to know what's behind that blush. Marshall never blushes. _"And," she prompted, making a play for another slice of bacon.

"There _is_ more bacon in the skillet on the stove, you know," Marshall grumbled. Another bite. No response.

"Come on, Marshall. I've held you while you've bled. I've held you while you've come. I've been forced to endure endless sessions of mind-numbing trivia that other people would have killed you for long ago. Just tell me."

He looked at her with a sheepish expression and muttered "Star Wars" just before he took a sip of his coffee.

"Star Wars? What? What the hell does Star Wars have to do with kendo? I think you lost me somewhere."

Marshall sighed and set down the coffee cup. _He's even more adorable when he's ruffled like this, a little uncertain, a little embarrassed. Makes me want to lean over and kiss him._

Marshall looked up and said, "The sword fighting, the light saber battles in Star Wars, are actually modified from kendo. When I saw the films, I was hooked right away." He shrugged. "You know how I am. I started finding out everything I could about them. When I found out there was a way to really learn light saber fighting, well, " He grinned. "What kid didn't want to be a Jedi?"

"You're just too much, Marshall Mann."

"My parents got me enrolled in a dojo, and once I was there, I found out there was so much more to it. The history and the tradition of the samurai was much more intriguing to me ultimately than the imaginary world of Star Wars, believe it or not. It became a refuge for me, a constant, and no matter where I've been, I have always found a dojo or a group to practice with."

"So now I have my very own Jedi samurai U.S. Marshal for a partner," she said, reaching across the table to pull his fingers away from his coffee cup and twine them together with her own.

He looked down at their hands, clearly surprised by the gesture. He looked back up, eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Yeah, pretty much. Strange combination, huh?"

Mary lifted her mug to her lips and took a slow sip, enjoying the beverage, enjoying the morning, enjoying the feeling of his long, strong, fingers gently matching her own. "One I think I can live with."

*****************************************************

_Directly from the All Japan Kendo Federation homepage:_

The concept of Kendo is to discipline the human character through the application of the principles of the Katana (sword).

**The Purpose of Practicing Kendo**

The purpose of practicing Kendo is:

To mold the mind and body,

To cultivate a vigorous spirit,

And through correct and rigid training,

To strive for improvement in the art of Kendo,

To hold in esteem human courtesy and honor,

To associate with others with sincerity,

And to forever pursue the cultivation of oneself.

This will make one be able:

To love his/her country and society,

To contribute to the development of culture

And to promote peace and prosperity among all peoples.

(The Concept of Kendo was established by All Japan Kendo Federation in 1975.)

* * *

**Okay. This one's done now. PULEEEZZZE... tell me what you think. I know it's a little out in left field (this is my home country, so I'm used to it), but it grabbed me and wouldn't let go. Updates to Good Intentions will be forthcoming soon, I promise.... **


End file.
